Too Strong
by JustforFun94
Summary: After Mockingjay - In district two, Gale comes across someone he though he would never see again and is forced to come face to face with some of his past decisions. Please read!
1. Chapter 1

**THIS TAKES PLACE AFTER THE MOCKINJAY. MADGE DID NOT DIE IN THE DISTRICT 12 BOMBING. **

**GALE'S POV**

A long line of refugees is stringing past me, double file, as they wait for us to assign them their temporary quarters. _So many people!_ I muse in dismay. I clench my fists involuntarily. We may have overthrown the capitol, but still at every turn there is fresh evidences of the atrocities they've committed. Three whole train cars packed full of individuals only now able to be released from the hospital. I don't even want to imagine what untold tortures they suffered. If I am honest, a good deal of the men and women filing past me don't look as if they are in fit condition to be released. Their physical wounds may have healed, but many show evidence of deeper hurts that are still raw and infested. There is a strange haunted look in the eyes of the girl I am assisting right now. I have to explain again more slowly, and point more clearly before she seems to vaguely comprehend what I am trying to say. Limping she make her way off to follow my directions.

I glance up over the crowd of thin, emaciated forms, clothed in random, ill-fitting garments. This is just a fraction of the capitol's victims - a minute fraction of the ones who actually survived the endless hours of confinement and torture. I grimace wondering just how many didn't. An all-consuming desire to violently smash something into a million pieces overwhelms me. It won't compensate for the wrongs these people have suffered, but it would at least make _me _feel slightly better. My eyes skim over the ever moving line, and suddenly my heart stops.

Long wavy, blonde hair – not that there has been any absence of fair haired women in the crowd, but there is something different here. No! I can't be. There simply isn't any way! The women's head is down; her hair hanging rather limply on either side, shielding it from my desperate view. My eyes are riveted to this small figure. As if sensing she is the object of observation, her head raises, vacant, blue eyes instantly fixating on me.

Madge! I know she instantly recognizes me by the way her gaze falters and drops to the floor. I am too astonished for words. I want to defy protocol and run to her, pulling her away from all this. She shouldn't been here. If I was enraged at the general condition of the refugees before, the sight of Madge, pallid and stooped, the collar bones on her neck jutting out in a thoroughly alarming manner, makes me positively livid with rage. With a feverish enthusiasm, I continue to survey and sign the forums belonging to each person I hastily pass through the line, aware that with each signature I am getting closer to Madge.

Finally she is just behind the elderly man I'm inspecting, her eyes glued to the floor, her face still barely visible beneath her sheen of golden hair. Then I meet her gaze once more as she extends a limp hand with her papers clutched between the fingers.

"Gale," is all she says, in a soft, expressionless voice.

I'm deathly afraid that at any moment I am going to completely lose it, grab this girl and clutch her to me in desperation. I simply cannot let that happen, so all I venture is a gruff, "I didn't expect to see you here." I don't trust myself to say more

"Really?" is her only reply.

I'm holding her papers towards her. With a hasty gesture, she takes them back and moves along the line.

She is going to the same section as all the other young women. I must visit her later. Madge! I still can't believe she is here. Although it was never confirmed, I always assumed she was dead.

The next four hours feel like an eternity. When we have finally completed all the necessary arrangements for the refugees, I make a beeline for the sector I know Madge will be in.

Walking into the long bunkroom, I make my way towards the end. She was assigned to one of the higher numbers. As I approach, I see her sitting Indian style on the bed, her back towards me as she gazes at what seems to be the blank grey wall in front of her.

"Madge." My voice sounds strangely soft.

She jumps up, bringing herself to her full height in front of me. I tower at least a foot over her, not that I have never noticed this fact before, it's just that she can't weight more than ninety pounds now, making her seem much smaller and more vulnerable than ever before.

"I need to talk to you," I state rather uncertainly, "Could you come out of here for a minute."

Her eyes look up at me questioningly, but she nods and follows me from the room.

I lead the way out onto a large patio that lies behind the building. To my great delight the place is nearly deserted, the only occupants being a couple sitting far right corner. They look sufficiently oblivious to us – to the entire world actually.

Mutely I motion towards a table located at the greatest obtainable distance from these two, and we sit down.

Now that I actually have Madge in front of me, with the ability to talk to her uninterrupted and unhindered, my mouth seems to turn to paste. All I can manage to mutter is, "I thought you were dead!"

"Everybody did,' she replies dryly.

"What happened to you?" I asked incredulous. I know nothing of her story.

An expression of pain briefly passes over her face.

Abruptly the knowledge of exactly what kind of story this is going to be sinks in.

"After-," she begins, but I raise my hand in protest.

"No!" It comes out harsher than I intended, "I can't listen to what they did to you. I can't take hearing that right now!"

It may be my imagination but it seems as if a more intense flash of pain is momentarily evident in her blue eyes; I can't be quite sure.

"How long have you been in two?" she asks.

"Ever since Katniss was acquitted," I flinch slightly.

Madge nods, apparently well acquainted with the details of President Coin's death and her friend's exoneration.

Silence reigns supreme. Madge's attitude is reserved at the very best, but then again I don't really blame her considering our last parting nearly two years ago was anything but cordial. I simply want her to know that I don't feel that way anymore – that for some inexplicable reason she's been continually on my mind for the last year – that wherever I turn I always see something that recalls memories of her – that I've wanted with every fiber of my being for her to come back – that when I saw her standing there starved and bruised, besides the anger at her condition that filled me, I was also felt the first real fragment of hope I've experience in a long time. It is more than just seeing a familiar face among a throng, it was seeing _her _face. The girl who always managed to make things ok, even in the worst possible circumstances – the girl who had helped me survive while Katniss was in a desperate struggle for her life. Somehow, I can't seem to find the words to say to make Madge understand. When I try to formulate them into coherent, polite sentences they seem jumbled and complex. If I am 100% honest, I truly don't even understand myself the exact nature of my feelings and what causes them.

"It is such a relief to see you, Madge," I finally manage to say, looking her keenly in the face, "It's very lonely and strange here. You're the last person I would have ever expected to see; I can't believe how fortunate I am."

There! That didn't sound too bad. However the corners of her lips only twitch up slightly forming a sad smile. I don't understand why she won't speak!

I'm driven to desperation, "You don't know what it is to see someone I know. All it is here is soldiers and thousands of people I've never seen before. Everything is so formal, Lieutenant Hawthorne this, and Yes, Sir. I feel like I'm going mental!"

She nods, her face a blank, clean chalkboard.

I haven't had anyone to talk to in ages. Somehow the two years between us seems to vanish, and I am desperately pouring out all my miseries once more to her listening ears. The travesties of the war, the isolation I feel from my former friends, how much I miss my family, Katniss, Prim, how my bomb unwitting caused the death of innocent children. It all comes out like a flood. It feels so indescribably good to get the weight of months' worth of guilt, shame, and misery off of my chest and out into the open.

She listens without saying a word to my endless torrent, until when I'm finished she comes over to me, as I sit my head dropped into my hands and wraps her small, frail arm around my shoulders.

"Gale," the soft sound of her voice causes me to straighten myself up. As I do so, her arm slips back to her side, taking a sense of security and comfort with it.

Her face is somber and grave, her tone kind but firm, "Gale. I can't express how sorry I am for everything. You've been through hell, I know. This war has been awful, you've suffered so much. I'm not trying to push you off, or downplay what you've been through, but I just can't do this."

I'm confused, "What are you taking about, Madge?"

Her voice gets louder and a hint of desperation manifests itself, "Gale, I just can't do this again. I can't be your punching bag or whatever you'd call me. I'm just not strong enough."

Stammering, I ask blankly, "What do you mean? My punching bag? I've never hurt you like that?"

"Not physically, no," she replies dropping her head. The fading sunlight catches on her eyelashes, and I see the glint of tears.

Unsure of my ground, I'm left speechless for a moment, somehow not quite making out the exact purport she intents her words to carry.

Then she is sitting in her chair again, _her _head sunk into her hands, her whole frail body racking with heart wrenching sobs. In consternation, I leap from my chair and go to her, attempting to put my arm around her as comfort, but I can feel her body tense under my touch. She moves from the chair and stands in front of me.

Her eyes suddenly look bloodshot; the full reality of her fatigue hits me. She is speaking again with a frantic desperation entirely new to me, "Don't you understand? I'm not invincible! I have a breaking point too! I was there for you when Katniss left the first time. I thought we were really finally friends." Her face is streaked with tears. She continues her voice unsteady and broken, "We shared with each other; somehow we made it through those awful weeks. For a moment I was deceived enough to suppose that what she returned, we would still be friends, but I should have known better. I didn't ever hope for more, just friendship.

"After the games were over, I wasn't anything anymore. Then the quell came. I should have known better, but somehow it seemed so natural for us to slip back into our old acquaintanceship. It came so instinctively for me. You needed me again, until I actually came to you for help – for understanding – and you just threw me off like I was nothing but the useless mayor's daughter that I think you _never _truly could get past."

"Madge – please -,"

"For once in my life, Gale Hawthorne, let me finish! I needed you! I really needed you! You let me into your life when Katniss left because you were hurt and lonely. Well I was too. When Katniss came back you didn't have any use for a friend again – she filled that position, so I was thrown out into the rain. How badly do you think it hurt when you wouldn't even speak cordially to me after they returned! I thought we were friends, but in reality all I was was a temporary filler for you, someone to use to vent and cry on until I was used up.

"Gale, I didn't have anyone else. When Katniss left you were my only friend. My family never cared about me, I never had friends at school, Katniss and I never even communicated much, but you actually talked to me; you shared feelings. One day we were comforting each other over the games and celebrating Katniss' victory; the next I was a repellent outcast who you once more scowled upon!"

Suddenly her breathing starts to become labored as if she is gasping for air, she bursts out, "It all started again when Katniss went back, and I was foolish enough to let you into my confidence thinking this time it was all going to be different. But I was wrong. Don't you see, I gave you your second chance – it nearly broke me! I simply can't do this! I can't be your crutch again, Gale. I don't have the strength for you to use me until something better comes along. I will not do this again!"

Dazed at her outburst I momentarily think back over our history, and for the first time see it through different eyes. Not seeing what Gale Hawthorne received from it, or how I was imaginarily wronged or shorted, but through the eyes of this girl.

On the evening of Katniss' reaping, I had wandered out into the meadow for some space – a place where I could wallow alone in the misery of my life and the loss of my dearest friend. Imagine my delight, or rather lack thereof, at finding a small, white figure concealed among the tall grass in _my _spot. This wasn't just any girl; this was the girl I completely despised. She was the mayor's daughter. The girl who had everything she could ever want, while my siblings and friends struggled to keep from starving. I was miserably rude to her that night, insulting her at every turn and refusing her even the common decency of addressing her by anything but her surname.

Madge however was undeterred. My intention was to drive her away, but when she didn't move, there was something indescribable holding me to the spot. The meadow was large – I could have found another place, but for some reason I stayed and it all ended with me in bitter anguish railing out against everything – the games, my life, etc. If I had been thinking rationally, I would have never let lose. I always prided myself on the iron grip I kept over my emotions, but there was something about Madge that always brought them out, even when I still hated her. For some unexplainable reason, that night we bonded over our mutual friendship for Katniss, the girl we felt we had lost forever – or rather I felt I had lost. Madge never doubted her.

It was awkward at first, but I didn't loathe her anymore after that. Although grudgingly at first, I finally admitted that she wasn't what I or most people envisioned her to be. There was nothing in her character that made her even remotely similar to her capitol father and acquaintances.

Madge would even come over sometimes - to see Posy. They had a mutual adoration society going between them. Madge was probably one of the most hated girls in school; a fact which I soon grew to resent bitterly, even though only weeks prior I had shared their opinion. We would sit together at lunch sometime and talk – mostly about Katniss. I considered her a very good friend. She was the one who kept me hanging on through those awful weeks – the one who helped me deal with the Peeta's devastating revelation, desperately trying to explain to me the rationality behind it. I honestly don't know how I could have made it through without her.

But then Katniss did the unthinkable and fulfilling Madge's prediction, she came home. With that fatal reaping, my entire world had crumbled into pieces, everything changing. With her return, I grasped onto the feeble hope that I could rebuild what had been before, reclaim my world as I had known it – and in my prior world, Madge had not existed. And so our friendship wilted. I didn't need her anymore; Katniss was home. All too easily did I forget all she did for me, and I felt the old prejudices returning, especially with the advent of the new peacekeepers.

"There was also a distinct part of me that felt embarrassed at revealing my weaker side. It was more convenient to forget about everything between us. After we welcomed Katniss home, I didn't see her for a full two weeks until crossing her path in the street one day, I returned her friendly, cheerful greeting with a curt nod of recognition and, "Undersee."

Now I know just how much it hurt her, but she didn't let me see it then. I had made my point clear and our former distant "non-acquaintance" was resumed.

Then the horror of the quarter quell fell upon us. Even before this announcement, I had felt Katniss was slipping from me, but this sealed everything. I was desperate.

"She can do this! She will win this!" Madge had declared confidently at the commencement of the 74th games, defying all my dire prophesies and forebodings. In all honestly it was Madge who restored my faith in my friend, who first gave me a ray of hope on what seemed the darkest day of my already black life. But then again there was something about Madge that always gave me hope. So it was to her I found myself running back to when my fragile dreams of life began to topple once more. I needed to hear her assurances – to have the privilege of someone listening to me – to be able to let my misery out.

She took me back, treating me just like she had before. Vaguely I knew I didn't deserve it, but I didn't really take time to consider the injustice of my actions. I just needed someone again.

Then something totally unexpected happened. Two days before Katniss' fatal shot into the arena force field, Madge had come to my house seeking me out. I was away hunting at the moment, so she had waited around for nearly an hour, entertaining Posy.

When I finally did return, she asked urgently to speak to me alone.

"It won't take long," she had said, "But I had to tell you before I go."

Go? The whole story came out quickly; she was pressed for time. Her father would kill her if he found she was telling me, but she had to take the risk. Madge was going to the capital to marry some random official who had been out to her father's place several months ago. I could tell she was terrified, but she held herself together. I was furious – livid. Undersee going to the capitol to marry one of their swine. In my heart, I knew she hated this and would have done anything to escape from the life she was going to, but there was another part of me that felt resentful towards her. How could she allow this? In reality she had no choice, unless she wanted to sacrifice her parent's lives; however it was easier for me to just ignore that fact. Looking back at it, I realize that through the years I had directed my anger over the harsh living conditions, lack of food, the capitol's cruelty, and the games at Madge simply because she was the easy target - a small, harmless individual who in reality hadn't contributed in any minute form to any of those atrocities.

Likewise, as I was filled with pain at what was happening to this girl, and also an unaccountable feeling of desperate grief at losing her, I directed these into the form most customary for me - anger – and released it all onto her unsuspecting head. I don't remember the exact nature of my words. They were spoken in such heady confusion and desperation, that even at the time I didn't have a full grasp of precisely what was coming out of my mouth. However I do know that I said some very awful, unfair things to a poor girl who didn't deserve any one of them.

She didn't stop me, or walk away. She just stood there, waiting for the end of my tirade, and then with a simply goodbye she went out of the meadow – and out of my life.

Momentarily, I felt guilt over what had happened, but then came the bombing and the frenzy that ensued. Katniss came back once more. The memories of Madge slipped to the background, only occasionally resurfacing at select times. I missed her faith, something that Katniss never had. At times I desperately wished that she was with me, telling me that everything was somehow going to work out – telling me to never give up.

I wanted to think that she was in the capitol siding against the rebellion. I wanted somehow to justify my last, cruel words, however I knew only too well that she would do anything in her power to help us defeat the government and bring down their tyrannical rule. I refused to think about what they might have done or be doing to her. At most times I forced her out of my mind, something that was easy when we were in the clutches of a brutal war.

But then the war ended. I assumed she was dead, because nothing was mentioned regarding her. It was when life began to fall back into its monotonous routine that her absence began to be keenly felt. I had lost Katniss forever. I fully realized that now, but somehow the pain of knowing Madge was gone as well, seemed to cut even deeper. At every turn something seemed to remind me of her; more than anything I wanted her back. I needed her – again.

And here she was before me, revealing to me a side of her I've never seen before. Strong, invincible, hopeful Madge Undersee is falling apart right in front of me.

She's still crying. I look at her – the wasted form, her pallid color, the tired eyes - suddenly I realize just what a conceited, selfish, detestable jerk I have been towards this girl for the entire course of our acquaintance. It has always been me, me, nothing but me. It was always me who would pour out grievances, never Madge. She was the one who listened and comforted. She was the one who put situations in the proper perspective when I could see nothing but black hopelessness. Madge was always strong, refusing to let anything affect her. The one time in her life she had actually come to me for comfort, when she was about to be forced into an arranged marriage, I had cast her off. Even today, when she needed to talk about what she had gone through during the war, I had stopped her, worried about only myself and the discomfort it might occasion me. The look of pain in her eye was not imaginary; it was just another link in the endless chain of hurt I have occasioned her.

Suddenly she is wiping her eyes with the end of her tattered sleeve, muttering softly, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to fall apart. Just please try to understand."

She turns away.

"Madge."

Her head inclines slightly towards me.

"Forgive me."

It is just a paltry two words. Words will never be able to express just how deep runs the remorse I feel over what I've done to this girl. I have a long road ahead of me.

She nods, "Goodnight, Gale." Her small form crosses the length of the patio and goes back into the complex. The sun is almost completely hidden behind the clouds now. I stand motionless still gazing at the door she just disappeared through. Thinking. Just thinking.

I had gone out and fought the evil of the capitol with every fiber of my being. I was in the heat of battles. I had devoted every aspect of my brain into the development of weapons to accomplish our goal. Now with the war successfully won, I had somewhat of a status as a kind of national hero.

However there was Madge, one lone girl who spent her whole childhood, isolated from her neighbors by their preconceived prejudice, despised by her father, and neglected by her invalid mother. A girl, who despite knowing the level of disgust the majority of her district held her in, never missed an opportunity to help anyone she could. It looked like she had it all, but in reality she had no more reason to be happy than me – yet she was. Even though everyone treated her with condescension or neglect, she was always kind and cheerful, never losing faith. A girl who sacrificed her happiness to save her other's from the consequences that would fall if she refused the arranged marriage.

Somehow when I examined the situation, it is clear to me who the real hero was. Not myself with all my anger and bitterness and brilliant weaponry designs, but rather the small young woman who has always faced the world with kindness and love despite opposition and hatred.

I don't know the story of what had happened to her in the capitol, but if she has been a capitol prisoner I know it must have been terrible.

Madge had always been so strong; too strong. Her confession tonight – her refusal to sit by silently again while I used her to alleviate my own grief, was not selfishness on her part; rather it was exactly what I needed. Somehow she always seemed to sense that.

I have spent the last few years brooding over my own problems, refusing to raise my eyes off myself and onto others.

I have hurt Madge Undersee in an indescribable way; it is with a pang that I realized I will never completely be able to remove the scars I've occasioned.

However she has taught Gale Hawthorne an invaluable lesson about himself. She has revealed to me in a moment the extreme magnitude of my selfishness. I will do more than just ask for forgiveness. Madge is hurting now after the awful things she has suffered and for once in her life, I will be there for her – truly there, ready to listen to her story and her suffering and not use her to drown out my own. I had a long road ahead of me. I'm not sure how long it would take for her to trust me again – but I am determined that I am not going to let her go again.

**please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

Madge's POV:

I sit motionless, staring at the bare wall in front of me. Bright white. Clear. Untainted. This was my primary occupation during my extended six months stay at the hospital. The doctor was convinced that I was demented. Even though I was issued a release, I don't believe it was because he was confident in my mental state. There was a level of pressure put on by management to move patients through quickly. He simply didn't know what to do with the silent, still girl who repeated rebuffed his attempts at counseling.

My life and heart is so complicated that it will require years of staring at white, blank walls before I've manage to straighten it all out in my mind. Fervently I wish I could erase the history of my life; maybe even completely removing myself from stage altogether. I feel completely engulfed in a shroud of overwhelming loneliness, as if there is a huge, bottomless hole in me that refutes every effort I make towards closing. It takes an incredible amount of effort to drag myself through each new day.

Gale. He is honestly the last person I want to deal with right now. Seeing him brings back a painful mixture of bittersweet memories – memories I would much rather forget. I want to leave District 12 behind me forever. I want to leave the Capitol behind me forever. In reality, I want to leave my entire life behind me and somehow start afresh. Unfortunately, no matter how hard I try, I can never leave myself behind; that is the real problem.

I'm just not sure how to deal with this pain, and the strange desperation gripping at my being. I'm afraid I'll do anything to rid myself of the loneliness that I've carried all my life.

Why did I have to be sent to District 2? Why did I have to be assigned to same area as Gale? Life is too entirely cruel.

He had been so _relieved_ to see me. That's all I ever was – a relief – a balm – what he used to sooth his hurt. Once a wound is healed, the medicine is no longer needed – the story of our acquaintance. Did he mean to be cruel? No, I truly don't believe he realized what he was doing. He was just obliviously selfish.

However now, I can't heal his hurts, because I'm completely broken myself. My whole being is shattered into a million pieces which I don't have the strength or even the will to mend. I can't take on another party's burdens because I am smothering under the weight of my own. He thinks I'm strong and able to comfort. What he doesn't know is that I was never strong in the first place. My entire life people have seemed to view me as somehow emotionally different from the general populace. I am believed to never become discouraged and never to feel the pain others experience. Just because I never made a grand display of my feelings, doesn't mean they don't exist in identical force concealed underneath the surface.

**Sorry this chapter is so short. I've been real busy with school and haven't had much opportunity to write.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three:**

**Madge's POV**

That awful doctor back at the hospital, clad in his white gown as he sat by my bedside, his mouth a veritable waterfall of hypnotic, monotone words, was right. I am going insane. This absolute feeling of crazed desperation cannot be an attribute of a normal mind. That empty space inside me continues to grow. Before much longer there will be absolutely nothing of substance remaining; I will just be an empty shell. Physically I will not have altered, but inside I will be completely dead. When this finally comes, then will I be fully crazed. My mind will have been utterly consumed by the rabid hunger of my hollowness.

Urgently I shake myself, trying to bring my concentration back to reality. There is no way I can stay here in this crowded bunkroom all day. What are they planning on doing with us? Briefly I raise my gaze and bring it around the apartment taking in my roommates. A variety collection of women, young and old, with different backgrounds and stories, we are all united by the commonality of our suffering. Yet somehow this hasn't served to unite us. While a select few are conversing with each other, the majority is either pacing the floor restlessly, or like myself situated in isolated corners.

Why aren't they doing anything with us? They can't think they are going to keep us caged up like animals. Somehow being run through the lines, waiting for our books to be sighed, and awaiting our assigned quarters made me feel like a sort of prisoner.

I run my hands through my tangled blond hair; it feels dirty and limp on my fingers. Inwardly I cringe, glancing down at my ill-fitting rather filthy dress. Are they planning on giving us clothes, access to showers, anything? Someone had brought food in earlier that morning, but I hadn't touched it. I haven't had an appetite for days.

Slipping out of my bunk, I approach the nearest unoccupied individual.

"What are they doing with us?" I broached not masking my desperation.

"Don't know for sure," replies the women indifferently as she shrugs her thin shoulders, "Last I heard, they are trying to find places for everyone to stay – work for those who are able. This place is swarming with refuges though, so who knows how long it'll take."

I nod. One thing for sure, I have to get a breath of fresh air. The atmosphere in this room is stifling. No one forbid us to leave the room, so I'm not going to spend the entire day here.

The door opens out into a deserted hallway. Instantly the blinding whiteness of the walls presents itself; I feel a sense of relief wash over me. Not quite sure where these corridors lead, I arbitrarily choose to veer off in the left direction. I pass numerous doors, some closed, other's propped open, from which one can hear the low undertones of conversation or catch a brief glimpse of the numerous people inside.

I desperately wish I could find my way out to the veranda. The place Gale had taken me to last night, but I had felt so dazed and tired at the time that I'd paid little to no attention to the direction he was leading in. Consequently I content myself with simply pacing the halls. Although there are a great abundance of people occupying the rooms, I haven't come across a single individual actually in the corridors; they are all deserted and empty.

I walk for a long time; I'm probably going in a short of circle, retracing the same pathways multiple times, but I'm not quite sure. These blank corridors are peaceful and calming. Nothing decorates the walls; there is no furniture, no people, just white and quiet.

But then my legs begin to tire, and every step is a painful effort. The halls begin to acquire the property of motion; they swim and swirl before my eyes, dipping in and out, up and down with astounding rapidity. Three dark dots abruptly appear on the horizon. They grow larger by the second, coming increasingly closer. As they loom up in the distance their forms begins to morph into a thousand different shapes. Staggering, I attempt to turn and run from the creatures, but this only causes them to gain on me faster. Then its blackness and no more.

**Just wanted to thank everyone who has reviewed so far! It is highly appreciated. **

**Next chapter will be Gale's POV. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four:**

Gale's POV:

Sprawled out on a chair much too small for my frame, I sit motionless, keeping vigil. The room is still and shadowy, the faint moonlight streaming through the pair of windows occupying the distal wall doing little to alleviate the darkness. With only the steady beeps of the medical monitors to break the silence, there is nothing to disturb my thoughts.

I'm not totally sure why I still feel so disturbed and concerned – or why I'm still sitting here after nearly three hours. The doctor seemed assured that besides malnourishment and sleep deprivation, she was fine. I try to soothe myself with the fact that proper care will soon remedy these deficiencies. But always looming menacingly in the background of my thoughts is that wild, distraught expression I glimpsed in her eyes earlier that evening as I approached her in the hall.

Right now she's lying on a rather shabby hospital bed, in an equally deficient hospital room, fast asleep, an IV drip attached to her arm. After she collapsed in the hallway, she never fully regained consciousness.

A glance at my watch shows me it is nearly eleven. Due to the fact that I have to be up at five this coming morning, the most propitious course of action would be to go to bed. Due to the level of fatigue she's been under it is highly unlikely that she will wake up anytime soon. I'm not sure I want her too. Our meeting the previous evening went so well that I'm just sure she is simply dying to see me again – NOT. It is quite clear that I occasion her a great deal of pain – pain that I'm sure she would prefer to avoid. If I am brutally honest with myself, I don't blame her.

It was simply so unlike Madge having her break down right in front of me. Never in the history of our acquaintance had I seen her cry, until last night. I believed I knew how to handle the strong, confidant girl whom I had known in twelve, but I felt uncomfortable around this new side of her character. After she had left me the preceding evening, I had ardently promised myself to would be there for her in the future. However faced with the challenge of putting this into practice, I began to wonder if it wouldn't be easier to simply establish a distance between us permanently. After all this seemed to be what she wanted.

"_I can't do this again, Gale."_ Those had been her words. But as I replayed them in my head, seeing the anguished expression on her face, I realized I couldn't just walk away. Regardless of Madge's decisive disinclination to renew our friendship, there was a part of me that simply was not ready to let her go -maybe the same something which had constantly channeled my thought in her direction over these past months.

So inherently it is probably my own selfishness that keeps me in that dark room, away from my comfortable bed, but regardless of the internal motive, I don't leave.

In an attempt to stay awake, I walk over to the window brushing aside the shade and staring out into the darkness. A stream of moonlight seeping through the crevice shines onto Madge's face, illustrating her features in pale silver against the shadows. An acute pang courses through me.

Her eyelids flicker slightly; without warning, she bolts straight up in bed, eyes scraping the expanse of the room in morbid terror.

With three short steps, I'm by beside her.

"Madge, it's ok. You've –"

"Where am I?" she asked tremulously.

"In the hospital. Remember-"

"But what happened?" Her voice falters, "You - I don't understand. Why – what – why are you here?"

"You were in the hallways back at the refugee center. Do you remember that?"

She shakes her head in confusion, forcing the tips of her fingers into her temples.

"I don't know," she mutters blankly, "I don't know." Her face rises up towards mine. The sense of panic written across its features is mirrored in her tone, "I just don't know what is wrong with me!"

Exhausted she collapses back onto the pillow. There are tears trickling out of the corners of her eyes. "I'm so scared – so scared. What's going to happen?"

"Madge," I exclaim firmly leaning over her, "You're going to be fine. You understand that?"

Her large blue eyes, emanating fear, stare into mine. Mechanically my fingers brush a thin wisp of hair away from her face. She gazes up at me with something akin to a question.

Suddenly embarrassed, I move quickly back, intending reassume my chair, but instantaneously thin, cold fingers spring forward and weakly grasp my arm.

"Please don't go!"

"I'm not going anywhere," I respond soothingly. Loosening her grasp on my arm, I pull my chair up to the bedside.

"What color are the walls?" she asks abruptly.

In all honesty I hadn't noticed. "I think they're white," is my puzzle rejoinder.

"That's good."

A cold fear grips me. Vividly the recollection of her eyes in the hallway only hours prior flashes across my mind once more.

"When I first woke up," she is continuing simply, "I thought I was back at the Holding, but that can't be if the walls are white."

Momentarily I debate the wisdom of question her, but regardless I inquire carefully, "the Holding?"

"That's what _we_ called the prison under the capitol."

-which was precisely my original assumption. I'm unsure if it is propitious to continue this conversation, but Madge seems so inclined. She resumes, "But you see, the walls there were grey, so this isn't the same place."

Numbly I nod. Desperately groping for the best approach, I asserted rather feebly, "You really should try and get some rest now."

She glances at me with a puzzle expression, "Why are you here? You aren't supposed to leave twelve. Why aren't you with Katniss? She isn't going into the games again?"

A wave of nausea sweeps over me.

"Madge!" I exclaim in desperation, "The rebellion! The games are over! The capitol is gone! Don't you remember?"

Her face contorts with pain; she raises a feeble hand to her forehead. I'm such an idiot! Why did I have to snap at her in that manner?

"I don't know!" she murmurs, "Everything is a huge mass of conflicting events and people. I don't know -,"

The door creaks open revealing a white clad nurse. She looks noticeable surprised to find her patient awake. Madge instinctively shrinks away as the woman approaches.

"You shouldn't be up, young lady," the nurse remarks cheerfully as she examines the IV drip, "You need your rest very badly."

"I can't sleep right now," is the guarded reply.

I am the recipient of reprimanding glance from the woman. Apparently restlessness is automatically attributed to my presence.

"Well, don't you worry," she responds soothingly, "We'll take care of that. I'll be back in a minute."

Leaving us alone once more, Madge turns to me, "I don't want to stay here."

"You can't leave right now; it's the middle of the night."

I receive no reply. Seconds later the nurse reenters. She approaches the bedside and lays her hand on her patients arm. In a soothing voice she begins, "This will let you sleep. It won't hurt, understand?"

The glint of a needle. A piercing shriek. The room seems to shake. Vaguely the angry reprimand of the nurse reaches my ears, as a form collides with mine and two arms clasp in desperation around my neck. "Don't let her give me that stuff! You can't let her do it! Please!"

"You're tearing the IV right out of your arm!" verbalizes the women in evident anger, instantaneously transforming from sugar or vinegar. Her hand fastens with a vise like hold over Madge's arm, attempting to wrench her away from me. Recovering from the unexpected nature of the situation, suddenly I feel a surge of fury.

"Leave her be!" I command as if addressing one of my trainees. She removes her hand, but glares daggers at me.

"How do you expect her to recover?" she snarls.

I push Madge away from me, lowering her gently back down onto the bed, but her fingers grasp at the fabric of my shirt.

"Gale!" she is entreating piteously, "Don't let her put that needle into me. I can't."

"Girl!" snaps the nurse harshly, "It's only a sleeping drug. It only pricks for a second. I should hope you're capable of standing a little pain."

If I wasn't so preoccupied with calming Madge, this woman would receive a choice piece of my mind. However Madge isn't paying any attention to her, instead she refuses to release her grasp on me, repeating with building desperation, "I can't! Don't let her! Don't!"

Grasping her shoulders between my hands in an effort to keep her from vaulting off of the bed once more, I soothingly reply, "It's only sleeping medicine – to help you rest. It's fine."

"No!"

"Madge, really its ok."

"Please, I don't want it!" she gazes piteously up at me, her eyes brimming with desperate entreaty. Her next words are so soft, that I barely catch them. "I don't want to become like my mother."

I do not attempt to explain to her further that the contents of the syringe do not contain morphine. I no longer attempt to influence her reason.

Turning to the nurse, I state decisively, "We won't be needing that right now. The patient is fully capable of sleeping without assistance.

She hesitates, as if undetermined what course of action to take.

"It really would be for the best," she proffers defensively.

"Not in this instance!" I reply. I suppose she leaves immediately, but I'm too busy with Madge to notice.

"Everything's fine now," I reassure, in an attempt to pacify her.

She collapses, exhausted back onto her pillow, finally relinquishing her hold.

"Please don't leave," she implores weakly.

Hesitantly I reach out and clasp the hand lying limply by her side in my own.

"Promise me you won't let her give me that if I go to sleep?"

"No one is going to hurt you Madge, understand?"

Several minutes later she is fast asleep, her steady rhythmic breathing serving as my reassurance.

**I'm not sure that this chapter came out exactly the way I wanted it to, but oh well. I'm super busy with school at the moment, so I do not have much opportunity to sit down and write for pleasure **


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